


Los Angeles Dreamin'

by SubvertCity



Series: Like Bonnie and Clyde [1]
Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay, M/M, One-Shot, Rick is just a big emotional dumbass, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubvertCity/pseuds/SubvertCity
Summary: Cliff insists they stop at an overlook to see the city in all its glory at night. Rick doesn't get it - but Cliff sure looks pretty when he's standing there, looking out at Los Angeles lights like he's never seen them before.
Relationships: Cliff Booth/Rick Dalton
Series: Like Bonnie and Clyde [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757572
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	Los Angeles Dreamin'

**Author's Note:**

> Closely based on an actual lookout somewhere up in the hills that I've visited before, probably on Mulholland- couldn't track down the name (not an official lookout point, likely.) Apparently, they're ticketing people there now, but Cliff and Rick hardly run into that trouble.

They’re overlooking Los Angeles from a lookout point on the side of the road. It’s dark, past ten now, and mighty cold, and Rick isn’t happy about it when Cliff decides to pull over. It’s a place Rick has been to before, when he bought his first authentic and overwhelmingly crappy excuse for an apartment, when the city was brighter and his hopes were set high; before Bounty Law and before he was able to be pegged as a true alcoholic. He’s only visited it once or twice; it’s hidden by a sharp turn and extremely easy to miss, not to mention a hell of a drive around the swanky mansion-cladded LA hills. Even if you do find it, all it really serves is a tourist picture view or a good makeout spot. At least to Rick, but he’s a grumpy son of a bitch, as Cliff often tells him.

Cliff has insisted they stop, over Rick’s pouting and spoiled talk about how it’s nothing they haven’t seen before, but Cliff shuts him up a little when he explains he’s always wanted to come here. He’s heard about it before, and it reminds him of when he’d first come down to LA. He’s wanted to see it ever since he’d moved to the city, such a stark contrast from what he’d been used to, and he’s never been, never gotten around to it. He talks about it like it's something special - something near and dear to him - and Rick’s protests falter and his face softens. How can he say no to Cliff like this? Cliff keeps the car running so he can keep the radio on, soft and subtle in the background, and hops out with a little pep in his step. Rick takes the opportunity to smoke another cigarette, settling down against the railing beside Cliff and fumbling with his lighter. Cliff is staring out over with this look on his face, something Rick can’t quite place. There’s a smile on Cliff’s face, and a distant haze in his eyes, and his macho facade is dropped. It has to be one of the clearest times Rick has seen Cliff, the true Cliff who is vulnerable and a little soft and in a happy place. Rick can’t take his eyes off the guy, not until Cliff lets out an audible breath, like it's been taken away by the view, and Rick realizes he’s staring, suddenly feeling grateful that Cliff’s so distracted by it all. He turns his eyes towards the bright light pollution and sucks on his cigarette.

“So,” Rick starts, breaking the quiet, although it isn’t completely silent because there’s the hum of Los Angeles traffic below and the car radio’s got a Numero Uno Cologne jingle playing softly. “It everything it’s lived up to be?”

Cliff doesn’t look over at him. He sucks in a breath and rubs his hands together, breathing into them against the cold with his elbows against the rail. He’s still stuck on the city, and Rick doesn’t really understand, because Cliff’s seen views like this before, he’s sure. He drives up to Rick’s house just about every goddamn day, and Rick’s seen him work on his roof a couple times, where he must’ve been able to see. And surely a driving junkie like Cliff has gone up towards the top of the hills like this before, just to do it. He doesn’t really get why Cliff’s looking out over the stretch of Los Angeles city like its the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, when all Rick really thinks about is just how dirty and smoggy it is, and all the bad stuff he’s heard about this place, like the General Andres Pico hangings over in Orange County and the street violence in the city, and things like that which usually go above Rick’s ignorant head.

“Yeah,” Cliff finally breathes, looking away when he hears Rick choke back a cough from the smoke. A low whistle vouches for how much he likes the scenery. He gives Rick a wide grin and reaches out to pull the cigarette right from Rick’s lips, taking a long drag before Rick has the chance to argue. Then he hands it back, and Rick eyes him again, dumbfounded. 

“Could- could’a just asked me f-for one,” Rick mutters, but his hands are betraying him by shaking a little bit as he puts the cigarette back in his mouth, after Cliff. He steadies them with the nicotine in his lungs.

Cliff’s looking back out, quiet, again. Rick can tell he’s thinking hard, but it isn’t bad, not like how it usually is when his face is pulled back into a furrow and a frown. It’s lighter, like he’s thinking happy thoughts.

Rick would usually be whining to leave by now, after a couple minutes of standing around in the cold when he could be back at the house where there’s a fireplace and whiskey, but he feels that familiar tug on his chest because Cliff looks so pretty again. The sky’s dark, a purple black, with all its stars just existing, and the city is glowing, busy and bright because it never really has a chance to sleep, and all of that’s fine, Rick thinks, but Cliff - Jesus, Cliff is something else. He’s got that jean jacket he’s always wearing that Rick thinks looks real good on him, sleeves pushed back so he can see half of Cliff’s forearms, scars he’s gotten from stunts and the war and all, calloused over strong, defined muscle, and his eyes, God, those eyes that have that unfamiliar yet comforting spark in them as he looks out, like maybe he’s finally at peace or something. Cliff’s always so restless and weird, too serious and yet bordering too reckless when he’s on his own or pushing it with his stunts, and he never looks like he truly stops thinking, even when he’s sitting down or bored or trying to sleep. Tonight, in the cold, next to Rick, looking at a place that’s so familiar, like he’s just come down here from Fuck’s Ever, Missouri, or wherever, he looks as close to a state of peace as Rick supposes he might ever see. That’s enough to shut Rick up for a while and smile, and maybe see the city in a different view, just for a brief moment in time.

Rick finishes his cigarette and lets it drop, scuffing it out with the toe of his boot, and the radio starts playing that song Cliff likes. Rick catches Cliff’s lips twitch, like he might mouth along, but he instead closes his eyes and leans backwards just the slightest, letting his head fall back while he takes a deep breath. Rick licks his dry lips and swallows, trying not to think again of just how goddamn pretty he is and how he’d like to kiss his throat right about now, and Cliff opens his eyes a little and catches Rick’s staring. He turns his head, looking him dead in the eyes like he’s going to say something. There’s a pause. Rick feels uncomfortable under the stare, like Cliff’s about to start up about something serious, and he darts his eyes back to the ground, like he’s checking to make sure his cigarette hasn’t sent any sparks flickering into the dry brush that’s growing on the heavy slant of hill in front of them. Cliff, looking abnormally gentle, opens his mouth, shifting a mere step closer, but then a car comes around the bend, noisily pulling to an abrupt halt before it can miss the lookout by accident, the same way Cliff almost had. When Rick looks up, that soft and sentimental Cliff is gone, and his walls are back up, like he’s just been shaken back to the present. He closes his mouth, blinking, and the starry Los Angeles look in his eyes is gone, replaced with that serious, readied glint. He pulls the sleeves of his jean jacket down, maybe because he realizes how cold it is or maybe because of the scars, and pulls away from the railing. Rick stands up straight, watching him run a hand through disheveled hair. 

“Well, guess it’s time we head back,” he suggests, voice just the slightest bit breathy, like he’s still coming back to it all. He smiles again, smaller this time, and reaches out to elbow Rick in the ribs and break the mood. “What’a you say, partner?”

Rick lets out an uneven laugh, rubbing his side where Cliff’s poked him playfully and nods. Cliff fishes around for the keys in his pocket and shakes them, reminding Rick of the jingle of spurs. He’s walking towards the car just as a couple gets out of that car that’s pulled up; a woman and a man, arm in arm, talking softly and marveling at the view, and Rick chews on his lip, looking away from them as he slides into the passenger seat. A part of him feels just a tinge of jealousy, and then he sees them kiss as Cliff peels out and that makes it so much worse, like he’s mad that it's not Cliff and him, hip to hip, sharing the view. It makes him feel silly.

They drive to the sound of the radio, lulling a sleepiness out of Rick, maybe from the curve of the road and the distant softness of the music, the warmth of the car and Cliff, and Rick leans his head against the window with heavier eyes than before. Cliff doesn’t say anything about it and Rick feels content, until they’re in his driveway and Cliff is just sitting there. He’s waiting to see if Rick wants him for anything else, if he should stay or go, and Rick knows this. Cliff’s like a dog, loyal and waiting, which is ironic because Rick’s the one who always idolizes him. 

Cliff pauses, thinking, then decides to turn the car off, just for the sake of walking Rick up to the door like he does sometimes, and maybe because he’s also sometimes one for occasional wishful thinking. What he’s wishing for, he doesn’t fully know; maybe just comfort in Rick’s presence. They get out and do their little routine, where Rick walks ahead a step and then pauses and turns back around at the doorway, like always. Cliff gives him another signature smile, and Rick swallows back that weird feeling, like always. 

“Thanks,” Cliff says, making Rick frown. 

“For what?”

“That view,” Cliff says, like Rick’s sort of dumb, and Rick nods, smiling, even though Cliff’s the driver and Rick’s just the one who didn’t bitch and moan the whole time.

“Y-yeah, yeah, sure thing,” he mutters, squinting his eyes a little as he speaks. It’s something Cliff won’t admit to loving. Rick’s pulse thumps and his heart picks up, and he chews on his lip, debating on saying something more. Cliff knows he’s got something else to say. He’s just too damn chicken all the time, Rick realizes about himself as he looks at the man, who's looking at him with almost no expression on his face, and that makes Rick even more nervous, not being able to read Cliff. Rick wipes his sweaty palms on his too-expensive pants and doesn’t speak. Cliff takes this as a cue to leave.

“Well, you gonna need me for anything else?” Cliff asks lightheartedly, sounding and feeling a little disappointed, and he says it out of ceremony more than anything, because it’s getting late and Rick would feel like an ass asking anything more out of Cliff. Rick shakes his head and swallows tightly, squinting. He wipes his hands on his jeans again.

“Uh n-no, no, all good,” he decides, and Cliff gives him a goodbye nod, turning, and fuck, Rick’s missing his chance, because who knows when they’ll have some odd, intimate moment again like they had, and Rick’s feeling softer tonight - more than usual - so he blurts out before he can overthink it, “Hey- hey, you, uh, looked pretty t-tonight.” Cliff turns and looks at him with an odd expression, and Rick stumbles to add, just because he feels like that weird expression might be confusion or disgust because who the fuck calls Cliff Booth pretty, “O-or maybe, I mean, it was pretty. Tonight. The view. Uhm. Thanks.” He feels like dying then, but Cliff gives him a smug smile, stepping a foot closer. Rick can feel himself grow warmer.

“Right,” he says softly, a sudden hint of humor in his voice. “You looked pretty, too. The view, I mean, of course.” Rick’s face burns at the teasing, and he feels like his head might explode because it sounds a hell of a lot like Cliff fucking Booth is actually flirting with him, reciprocating. He backs up and his elbow knocks against the door and he laughs unsteadily. He’d half expected a slap to the face or a weird look, but Cliff is talking all easy-like and happy.

“Right. Yeah, y-yeah.” 

Cliff keeps staring at him. Rick clears his throat, trying to knock out some of his nerves and, God, he sure is tired of Cliff’s staring, because all it does is makes him so goddamn nervous all the time. He wants to man up and invite Cliff in, just for a drink or two, or at the very least wish him goodnight. There’s a brief interval of silence. Then, he stupidly asks, the first feeble excuse to keep Cliff here that comes to mind, “Say, could you help me? With startin’ up a fire?” So much for not feeling like an ass for asking Cliff for something.

Cliff’s not oblivious though, he knows even a soft-handed bigshot-wannabe like Rick knows how to start a fire, but he gets a hint that there’s a little more to the invitation and nods, like he’s been waiting for Rick to ask him in. Rick lets out a relieved breath, turning around to fiddle with the keys to get his door open, and as soon as he’s in he’s finding his way to a bottle of alcohol so he can recover and wipe away his nervous sweating. Cliff, meanwhile, goes over and mends the fireplace, putting on a few logs that he’s put there himself a couple weeks prior, when it wasn’t quite so December cold at night, which is still not that bad considering it’s California. Rick kicks back his drink and pours Cliff one and himself another, setting them on the coffee table, feeling calmer and maybe more confident, though not much. Cliff kneels down, poking at the wood and trying to get it to catch from the burning newspapers. Rick watches him, sipping his drink.

Cliff eventually gets a nice fire roaring, which, he admits to himself, might’ve been done a little more hastily that usually on account of wanting to join Rick on the couch. He’s oblivious to Rick watching him in admiration of how he looks against the warm light of the fire, or so Rick thinks. When the log’s burning steady, Cliff joins him on the couch, closer than Rick expected. They knock knees and Cliff chuckles into his glass, while Rick tries not to blush. 

It’s their first of four drinks, and each time Rick comes back from pouring them another, Cliff gets a little more daring. Rick knows he should just bring a bottle over and pour them something while they sit, but he needs an excuse to get away so he can calm his heart down every time Cliff so much as looks at him. It starts with a couple brief touches to Rick’s arm, something he can brush off like he did when Cliff sat down so close. Then, Cliff keeps his arm around Rick’s shoulder while they laugh loudly about anything and everything, and Rick can’t help but notice this. Three drinks in and Cliff’s got a hand on Rick’s thigh while Rick’s talking about the script they’ve sent him, really more idle chatter than anything important. Rick all but freezes up. The fourth drinks are when it all happens, though. Rick comes back from the kitchen, where he’s poured them another glass, and sits back down. It’s even later now, and he’s starting to get antsy, like his time with Cliff is running out. They get to talking about more serious things, and Rick can’t help but bring up the lookout from tonight. When he asks, Cliff smiles and shrugs.

“Guess I just needed to see it,” he muses. “Wanted to see it when I first got here. Figured it was somethin’ everyone did, but I didn’t get around to it, and I guess I’d seen the city from up here before. So I told myself I’d come up there when I’d made it - just something to hold onto, y’know?”

Rick doesn’t know. He stares at him dumbly. 

Cliff goes on, “Shit, I know I ain’t really made it. Don’t know what that really looks like, but I figured I’m at a real good spot in my life. I got stunts, an’ Brandy, and you - of course I got you.” Rick feels his ears get hot. Cliff stares at him with a glint in his eyes. Rick wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him really badly.

“That’s, that’s…” Rick tries to find the words. “Nice.” It’s another stupid response, far from what he wants to express, because Rick’s not a man of words nor smooth and collected like Cliff, especially when Cliff’s just mentioned him like he’s someone really special. He’s honestly a bit shook up from the sentiment, and he feels like he means something for once. 

“Yeah? Thanks, man.”

Silence. Rick finishes his drink.

“Hey, Rick?”

Rick looks up.

“Yeah?” he asks. 

Cliff sets his glass down with a clink. His hand is on Rick’s thigh again, and Rick looks down at it. Cliff’s other hand, to Rick’s surprise, reaches out to cradle his jaw, and Rick’s pulse is hot again as he’s suddenly thrown off by everything. He tries to control his breathing as Cliff makes Rick turn his head, just a gentle pull. He’s close, really close, and Rick just might lose it. There’s something here, something apparent to both of them, and Rick can see Cliff’s intentions clearly for the first time. He’s excited by it all, taken aback, freaking out because Cliff’s got his head tilted slightly and he’s leaning in and fuck, Rick expects to be kissed - but it doesn’t happen, and his heart drops in his stomach for a second, before he realizes that Cliff is waiting, like he’s asking permission to kiss Rick, throwing the last mere centimeters between them into Rick’s hands so there’s the option for him to back out if he wants. To hell with that, Rick thinks, and he wastes no time taking away that distance, hands shaking as he raises them with uncertainty, fearing it’s a dream and maybe Cliff will disappear. He places one to the back of Cliff’s neck, brushing against unruly hair and his hot skin, and the other finding rest on his broad shoulder, feeling how real and warm and alive he actually is, not some dream. Rick’s so relieved he might cry, because it’s been such a long time of uncertainty and what’s been feeling like pining for a lost cause, and everything Cliff does makes Rick feel like he needs to jump in the pool just to cool down, and Jesus, the man is finally kissing him. Him. Cliff Booth is kissing him.

Then, Cliff’s pulling away, and it makes Rick want to cry; he won’t, can’t embarrass himself to such an extreme right now, but it sure makes him feel like it. Rick’s almost worried Cliff’s realized it’s a mistake, that kissing Rick Dalton isn’t what he’s thought it’s cracked up to be, but Cliff just smiles, looking like a thirsty mutt whose finally gotten a long drink of water. Rick smiles too, in awe.

“Stay here?” he finds himself asking - no, pleading. Cliff scratches his cheek and looks at Rick’s begging, hopeful eyes.

“Can’t. Gotta get home to Brandy,” he reasons, but he sounds real sad, and it makes Rick sad too, so Rick pulls him into another kiss. It’s even better than their first, and Rick’s already feeling it’ll become a habit of his, if Cliff will let him.

“Please.” 

Cliff looks at him, caught off guard momentarily. His eyes are darker and he’s smiling. He kisses Rick once more for good measure, like he’s deciding if Rick’s kisses are worth staying for, though he already knows the answer. 

“Guess Brandy can wait. Already walked her,” he laughs, face close to Rick’s. “Suppose I shouldn’t be driving after all those drinks either.” Rick beams at him, radiating a newly found energy. He wants to kiss him again. This time, he can.

“Thanks.”


End file.
